


Hope Springs

by afrocurl



Category: Veronica Mars (TV), Veronica Mars - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-28
Updated: 2007-06-28
Packaged: 2018-02-13 11:31:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2149122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afrocurl/pseuds/afrocurl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Toast won't pop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hope Springs

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://starxd-sparrow.livejournal.com/profile)[**starxd_sparrow**](http://starxd-sparrow.livejournal.com/) for the beta. Written for [](http://15north.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://15north.livejournal.com/)**15north** , but it's pretty vague about anything. At this point, all mistakes are my own.

He stares blankly at the toaster on the counter, willing the wheat toast to pop up quickly.

It’s the first time he’s making anything for himself, he realizes, as the butter slowly melts next to him. She’s trying to keep him grounded, or at least that’s what she says, soft voice and a gentle hand rubbing circles on his back.

While he impatiently waits for the toast to finish, his eyes wander around their sleek kitchen. The chrome seems too bright, and the contrast between the bottle of vodka in the corner and the grey backslash frightens him.

_No more of that, dude. You’ve been clean for three months. Resist the temptation._

He returns his eyes to the toaster, still wondering why the toast has yet to emerge from the inside. The sound of padding feet draw his eyes away from the annoying appliance and he stares at her for the first time all morning. Her hair is mussed, and he can’t help but grin wildly at her.

“What?” she asks.

“Nothing,” he intones, turning his attention back to the toast.

“It’s something,” she suggests, moving closer to him by the counter.

“I swear, it’s nothing,” he replies, attention still drawn to the toaster.

“Something’s wrong?”

“Toast won’t pop.”

“That’s because you didn’t plug it in, silly.” Gracefully, she pushes the plug into the wall and watches and the coils light up around the bread.

“Thanks.”

“No problem. It’s what I’m here for.” She starts to say something else, but the phone rings.

“Let it go,” he comments before wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close to him.

The shrill sound of their phone echoes off the walls before her voice rings through, “Hey. Leave a message.”

“Man. The surf’s wicked today. You up for a trip down there?”

He keeps his arms around her, even while she wiggles in his grip.

“Go. You haven’t see him in weeks.”

“What if I don’t want to? I haven’t had _nearly_ enough time with you.”

Slapping his hand away, she presses her body closer to his before pushing away from the counter.

-*-

Two pieces of very dry toast sit in the shiny toaster, butter melted in a dish next to it. Giggles from their room fill the house with mirth.


End file.
